


two days

by loserlesbian



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, IT (2017)-compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, also its been only two days, and richies already acting like a Dramatic Bitch, bc is it really a reddie fic if he doesnt, bc when i write eddie hes always gay, but eddies here to patch him up, hes a mess you guys, hes whatever as long as hes mlm, misunderstanding about gay feelings, overall softness between two thirteen year old boys, richie climbs through eddies window, richie feels More Than One Emotion and panics, richies just really insecure okay!!!!, richies sexuality isnt specified so, takes place after richie and bills infamous fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserlesbian/pseuds/loserlesbian
Summary: "Two days. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has seen Eddie Kaspbrak. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has talked to Bill Denbrough. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has seen It."Two days after Richie and Bill's infamous fight, Richie goes over to Eddie's. You know, just cause. It's not like Richie misses him or anything.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	two days

**Author's Note:**

> back with another reddie fic! i have like three other reddie wips also and i keep! starting! new! ones! 
> 
> i need to stop. but anyway, i just wanted to make a quick side note and say that everything richie says about bill in this, i don't believe and i don't think richie really feels this way either! i just think that in this situation, richie was really upset over eddie, and took it out on bill because they went into neibolt for bill's sake. i think richie was just really emotional and feeling Things and didn't know how to express them without blowing up in someone's face, y'know? he's just hurt and bill did come across as... i don't want to say 'uncaring' but... maybe that's how richie interpreted it? when he said they have to go back to neibolt? whatever they're thirteen year old boys in 1989, they can't process emotions in a healthy manner. oh well.
> 
> i had one other person look over this and i went over it like five times but i might have missed some mistakes so... whatever. i think that's all i have to say for this fic, so i hope you enjoy! kudos and comments are appreciated (especially comments- some of y'alls from my last fic literally made me cry they were so sweet! thanks guys <3)

Two days. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has seen Eddie Kaspbrak. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has talked to Bill Denbrough. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier has seen _It_.

It. That fucking clown. So, the Losers weren’t fucking with him, huh. They really had seen all that shit. Stan’s woman, Eddie’s leper, Beverly’s bathroom, Bill’s brother _alive_ … It was all real. 

Or was it?

Richie hasn’t had an encounter like the others have yet, and he plans to keep it that way. That thing was Fucked Up. Capital ‘F’ and a capital ‘U’ Fucked Up. He wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. Clearly, adults weren’t seeing the shit they’re seeing, otherwise none of them would be living in this hellhole, Richie was sure of it. There’s no way Eddie’s mom would let him live in a place with a child-murdering clown if she knew about It. And as much as Richie’s parents don’t really understand him, he’s sure they wouldn’t want him getting eaten by some demonic clown. 

Two days. Richie turns the volume of his walkman up, letting the sounds of David Bowie’s glorious voice vibrate in his ears. Two days since Eddie’s mom stopped him from going outside to play. Two days since the Losers had their fallout. Two days since Bill punched Richie in the face.

Richie understood, he supposed, how Bill must feel about his brother. Richie didn’t have any siblings, but he was sure that if anything like that had happened to any of the Losers then he would want to confront the bastard that hurt them. Hell, that bitchass clown broke Eddie’s arm, It almost _killed_ him, so yeah, Richie understood.

Something akin to unease pooled in Richie’s stomach at the thought of comparing his feelings for Eddie to Bill’s for Georgie. Eddie was _not_ Richie’s brother. Not even close. Richie couldn’t even fathom the thought of his and Eddie’s friendship being brotherly. It just felt wrong.

Richie’s known since the day he met Eddie that their friendship was different than Bill or Stan’s friendship. Richie didn’t feel that constant need to touch Bill or Stan, or have their attention always on him, or stare at them for long periods of time just to _look_. It was different. Bill and Stan didn’t make Richie’s heart race like Eddie did. 

His bedroom felt stuffy. Richie stretched out even further across his bed, trying to wiggle away from the heat building up in his room. He opened his eyes and slipped his glasses back on, allowing the world to become clear again.

He looked out his window. The sun was intensely beaming into his bedroom, causing Richie to squint as he peered outside. Again, his body was filled with the desperate ache to see Eddie, like it has been ever since Mrs. Kaspbrak banished the Losers from seeing Eddie anymore.

Richie sat up. Since when did Mrs. K ever stop Richie from seeing his best friend? He launched himself off his bed, pulled his shoes on, and bolted down the stairs. Richie was in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother to tie his shoelaces, leaving them dangling and his shoes loose. Eddie will definitely have a fit when he saw, causing a broad smile to spread across Richie’s face. 

He sped down the street, muscle memory taking over as he biked to Eddie’s house. He ridden there so many times that Richie could make it to Eddie’s with his eyes closed. 

When he arrived, Richie tossed his bike in the front lawn and crept to Eddie’s window, which was located on the second floor. He climbed the tree that was growing about a foot away from his window, where a slim but sturdy branch extended far enough for Richie to reach Eddie’s room. He peeked in, and saw Eddie crouched on the ground, ruffling through his stack of comics. Richie smiled; his mood has already boosted with just seeing Eddie and that little pout of concentration that schooled his features that he got when he was intently focused on something. 

Richie rapped his knuckles against the glass of Eddie’s window.

Eddie jumped, eyes wide when they connected with Richie’s through the window. “Richie?” Came Eddie’s warped voice, muffled from inside his room. He padded over to Richie, a pristine white hard cast around his right arm, reaching all the way up to his elbow. Even though the glass, Richie could see that it was clean as ever, no scuff marks or traces of mud. Not a single signature etched on the white bandage.

He lifted the window open, struggling slightly with his broken arm, and once the window was open enough, Richie crouched through.

“Look at ya, Eds, all bandaged up and shit!” Richie said as he stumbled into Eddie’s room. Richie’s hit a growth spurt recently, and he was becoming all gangly elbows and knees. His mom keeps telling him that if he keeps getting any taller, she’s gonna put him in basketball. 

Richie thinks she’s joking. Richie _hopes_ she’s joking.

Eddie ignores his comment. “What the fuck are you doing here? If my mom sees you I’m gonna be grounded for even longer.”

Richie shrugs and flashes Eddie a toothy grin. “Wanted to see how you were holdin’ up, under house arrest and all.”

“I’m not under house arrest,” Eddie rolls his eyes. Richie knows Eddie wants to express his annoyance and anger at his mom for keeping him locked away, but he always had a hard time talking shit about her. That didn’t stop Richie though.

“Why is she keeping you locked up then?” Richie glanced down at his feet, then around Eddie’s bedroom. It was cleaner than Richie’s seen it before, which is saying something because Eddie’s room is always pretty tidy (not as tidy as Stanley’s, that guy is a _bitch_ about cleanliness), but Richie has a feeling that this has more to do that just regular ol’ Eddie Spaghetti anxiety-cleaning. 

“I’m allowed to go outside,” Eddie says, crossing his arms. It looked funny, with his bulky cast taking away the effect of Eddie trying to look annoyed. Though, it’s usually his cute, round face that makes him look less menacing. It’s kind of why Richie always feels inclined to pinch his cheeks. 

_Cute, cute, cute._

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Ma’s sending me to Keene’s to pick up my refills soon, so I’m allowed to leave the house.”

Richie’s eyes widen, his glasses magnifying his eyes, making him look like a cartoon. “ _Oh_ , the pharmacy! Shit, my bad Eds, _of course_ you can leave the house. Only if it’s to the pharmacy of course. Why would you want to hang out with your friends who literally saved your life or whatever…” 

Eddie’s face scrunched up into a scowl. Richie pushed back the urge squish his cheeks together and kiss him on his little puckered lips. _Stop. Don’t think like that. You know better._ “What’s the deal with you? It’s only been like, two days, did you run out of quarters at the arcade already?”

Richie blew a stray hair out of his face. “No, I’m savoring them. It’s just…” Richie paused, unsure of how to continue. He didn’t want to give away too much, didn’t want to make it seem like he had _missed_ Eddie or anything. Because that would’ve just been pathetic. 

“Well the gang hasn’t been the same without you, Eds.” 

Eddie uncrossed his arms and moved to sit on his bed. “How is everyone, after the… It? Did Ben get his stomach looked at? First Bowers, and now this? I swear, what’s the deal with him and getting cuts in the same place on his body?”

The afternoon light shone inside Eddie’s bedroom, casting his shadow on the wall. It made Eddie look ethereal, like, like… like an angel. Or something that isn’t as sappy or _gay_.

“Yeah uh… about that…” Richie focused on the shadow on the wall. “I kinda fought with Bill.”

“What?” Eddie was immediately back on his feet, and approached Richie with his arms outstretched. 

“Well, Bill wanted to go back to Neibolt and I told him that he was being stupid, so… He got mad at me.”

His eyebrows furrowed, like he was just now noticing the cuts and bruises on Richie’s face. Eddie’s left hand gently brought his face level with his, right hand grazing where Richie’s lip had split from the impact of Bill’s punch. “I feel like there’s more to that story.”

His hand tightened where it held Richie’s chin. “Maybe…” Richie mumbled, heart rate speeding up at their close proximity. He willed his cheeks not to darken in a blush. 

Eddie’s lovely doe eyes rose from where they were focused on Richie’s lips (which Richie pointedly tried to ignore) to settle on Riche’s blue ones. He inhaled softly. Swallowed. He felt like Eddie could read his thoughts, could see into his soul, those lovely, lovely doe eyes that made him look like a kicked puppy.

“So are you gonna tell me?” Eddie asked, eyes continuing to bore deeply into Richie’s own. Eddie’s eyes were gorgeous. Richie’s studied them for years; those deep brown eyes that held so much emotion. They were so expressive and warm that Richie’s heart leaped into his throat.

_Don’t touch other boys, Richie. Don’t even think about them._

The hands on Richie’s face stayed put, burning where Eddie’s fingers brushed. He cleared his throat and tore his gaze from Eddie’s.

“I-I might have… said that Georgie was dead…” 

Eddie’s fingers stop their movements on Richie’s face. “You said what?”

Richie squared his shoulders, trying to appear more sure of himself. “That Georgie was dead, and that he needed to stop trying to get us killed too. And now everyone’s off doing their own thing, separate from the group...” 

The fingers were gone. Richie bit back a whimper that threatened to spill out over the loss of Eddie’s warmth. 

“Richie...” Eddie sighed, looking to the side.

“I know, it was out of line, but…” Richie squeezed his eyes shut, and tilted his head toward the ceiling. “It was like he didn’t even care! You broke your arm, It almost _got_ you, and… and…”

Richie scrubbed his hands across his face, pushing his glasses up in the process. He let his hands fall, curling his fingers into fists at his sides. His glasses slide back down his face, and Richie could feel that they were crooked.

“Eddie, you almost _died_ , and Bill… he didn’t even _care_.” Richie’s voice broke, and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to will them away, not wanting Eddie to see him acting like a big baby. He was thirteen goddamnit, why can’t Richie keep his emotions under control?

A quiet _tsk_ came from in front of him, and Eddie returned his hands to Richie’s face, pulling his glasses off and cleaning them with his shirt. “Get on the bed.” 

Richie’s heart jolted. “Take me to dinner first,” Richie joked, hoping Eddie didn’t hear the slight tremor in his voice. Eddie just rolled his eyes and slid the glasses back onto Richie’s face, making sure they were positioned correctly. 

“I’m getting some supplies for your face. Sit on the goddamn bed, Trashmouth.” Eddie left, presumably to the bathroom across the hall. 

Richie crossed the bedroom and plopped himself on Eddie’s neat bed. The sheets underneath him wrinkled, and Richie, for some reason he didn’t understand, felt a little guilty for messing up the neat appearance of Eddie’s duvet, even though Eddie himself was the one who told him (or, _demanded_ , more like) to sit there. 

He leaned back until his back hit the surface of the bed, the mattress bouncing along with him. Richie spread his arms out, allowing himself to feel the softness of the fabric softener that Eddie’s mom uses on all of Eddie’s bed sheets and clothing. He turned his head, nose pressing into the comforter, and inhaled. Thoughts of _Eddie, Eddie, Eddie_ filled his brain as the scent crowded his senses. This was how Eddie smelled, anytime Richie was close enough to get a whiff of him. 

Not in a creepy way. Richie didn’t go around actively smelling his friends. It’s just that any time Richie _did_ smell Eddie, this is what he smelled like.

It was overwhelming.

The door creaked, and Richie’s eyes shot open. He hadn’t even realized they were closed. 

“I told you to _sit_ on the bed, not _make yourself at home_.” 

Richie lifted his head. He watched Eddie kick the door shut with his foot, which was covered adorably with a pair of socks, the white ones that went up to the middle of his shins with one red and one blue stripe at the top that wrapped around his calves. They drew attention to Eddie’s legs, which were nice and _long_ compared to his tiny torso, all soft and tanned from the summer sun. It didn’t help that he was wearing a pair of shorts, red running shorts that Eddie always wore in the summertime. 

They never caused such a problem with Richie before. But, for some reason, this summer Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off Eddie’s legs. Or his arms. Or chest. His hair. His face. 

His _everything_. 

Those captivating arms held a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze and other ‘supplies’, and those captivating legs walked over to where Richie was laying down and stopped in front of him. Their knees brushed.

“Sit up.” 

Richie did what he asked. Richie always did. There was something inside of him that wanted to please Eddie, to do what he told him to do. Ever since they met, Richie had been nothing short of an Eddie-pleaser. 

He dumped the ‘supplies’ on the bed next to Richie, and knelt on the ground. “You need to bring your head down a bit,” Eddie mumbled, eyes focused on the warning label on the rubbing alcohol. Richie bent down, back curving uncomfortably as he made his face level with Eddie’s. 

Eddie glanced up, eyes locking with Richie’s before they snapped back down at his miniature hospital on the bed. His cheeks were pink, Richie noticed. Must be sunburned. Surprising, as Eddie is always the one to lecture them all about the dangers of sunburns and forcing them to use sunscreen. “That’s good.”

He sprung into action. Eddie took a cotton ball and soaked up some of the rubbing alcohol into the soft material. He placed the bottle on the floor, and brought his hand to Richie’s lip. 

“This is gonna sting a little, and it might taste bad, but as long as you don’t swallow it, you should be fine.”

Richie hummed to let Eddie know he was listening. He watched Eddie work, dabbed the cotton ball on the cut on his lip and only wincing at the initial contact. 

“Lord knows you didn’t do shit to this when you got it. Do you know how much bacteria could’ve entered the wound since then? You’re lucky it hasn’t already gotten infected.” 

Richie let out a breathy laugh from his nose. He tried to speak, but the look in Eddie’s eyes told him that talking was a bad idea. He tried not to pout.

“And… for the record,” Eddie said softly. “I don’t think Bill doesn’t care about what happened to me. I think he just wants his brother back so he’s trying all he can to get him back.”

Richie’s eyes followed Eddie’s movements as he capped the bottle and tossed the used cotton ball in the wastebasket next to his nightstand. Eddie grabbed another one and started dabbing his lip dry from rubbing alcohol. “Of course _you’d_ think that…” 

Richie meant his words to be silent, so quiet that Eddie wouldn’t hear them, but the way his eyes snapped from his lip to Richie’s eyes, brows furrowed in confusion, told him that Eddie heard exactly what Richie said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie demanded, hand hovering in place. He looked as angry as he was confused, and Richie silently scolded himself for being such an insecure asshole.

Like usual, his mouth worked faster than his brain, and Richie’s lips began to form around words that he didn’t even want to be saying in the first place. “It’s just, everyone thinks _Bill’s great_ , and _Bill can do no wrong_ , and _Bill_ this, _Bill_ that. Bill can’t be an asshole ‘cause Bill only misses his little brother. Bill can’t be at fault here, Richie is ‘cause _Richie’s_ the dickhead started a fight with Bill even though he threw the first punch.” 

Eddie’s mouth dropped, but he stayed quiet. He was letting Richie keep going.

“I mean, I get it, okay? If I had a little brother, I’d wanna find him too. But he can’t act like _I’m_ the crazy one here for being upset that _you_ got hurt and that clown almost got _you_ .” Richie sighed in frustration, eyes welling with tears again and _god-fucking-damnit_ why can’t he just man up?

“It’s not like I expect you to understand though, ‘cause you practically fuckin’ worship Bill so--”

Eddie was on his feet in an instant. Richie knew he had taken it too far. Fuckin’ Trashmouth Tozier and his motormouth never knowing when to stop. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie hissed. 

Richie stood too, his feet just inches away from Eddie’s. He already got this far, why not go full asshole? 

“I’m not an idiot, Eddie, I know everyone thinks Bill’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. Hell, even I think he’s the coolest guy out there! And I know you fucking idolize him, have idolized him since we were younger, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be wrong! You gotta see past all of Bill’s _perfectness_ and understand that he’s acting selfish. And it put us all in danger. Put _you_ in danger.”

Eddie was practically _seething_ at this point, and Richie had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Of course Eddie’s going to defend Bill, everyone does, and--

“I don’t _worship_ Bill,” Eddie spit. His eyes were ablaze, darting all over Richie’s face. “Of course I’m fucking pissed at Bill for going into that godforsaken house! But I understand why he did. He would’ve gone in with or without us. We agreed to go in. _I agreed_. It was _my choice_ , not Bill’s. I _chose_ to go in; there was no way in hell I was letting him go in alone, no matter how afraid I was. Bill’s my best friend, and so are you. All of you. And I _know_ that if it were you, or Stan, or any of the others, that I would’ve gone in.”

Richie’s eyes widened at Eddie’s outburst. He opened his mouth, unsure of what would tumble out, but Eddie held up a finger, silencing him. 

“I went in that house because I couldn’t let one of my friends take on that clown alone. That’s why I’m pissed. Because Bill is so headstrong that he would’ve done it even if we weren’t with him. So we _had_ to go in with him because I didn’t want to lose one of my best friends. Okay? Does any of that even make sense?” 

Richie swallowed. Eddie had his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed into slits, eyebrows drawn so far together that they could’ve been one long brow. His face was flushed and his chest was heaving. Adorably, his nose was scrunched up, and Richie felt guilty for thinking Eddie was _cute, cute, cute_. 

Eddie pushed Richie’s chest, and, in his dazed state, fell back onto the bed. Eddie crouched back to the ground, still wheezing and picked up the cotton ball. He didn’t even bother with his inhaler. 

The cotton ball went back to his face, though it was fruitless as the rubbing alcohol had already dried itself. “No one blames you, Richie. Sure, you’re an asshole, but it wasn’t your fault the group split.” 

He busied himself with searching through all his supplies in the bed, though Richie was sure he didn’t even know what he was looking for. “My arm is fine. It didn’t even hurt that bad.” 

His voice was almost uncaring, still pissed off at Richie’s accusation, but Richie could hear what Eddie really meant. 

_I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay now._

Richie closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. He felt tears gather in his eyes again, this time Richie had no idea why. It was like he couldn’t stop crying, ever since he returned home after the fight. 

After he thought he’d never see Eddie again. 

He felt a finger lightly brush against his cheek, and Richie opened his eyes to see Eddie looking at him with a soft look, a look Richie has never seen cross Eddie’s features. He sniffed, and brought his own hand to his face, where he felt wetness along his cheeks. 

“Shit,” Richie croaked. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, scrubbing away the tears and the vulnerability. “S-Sorry, I—“

Eddie shook his head. He grabbed a box of tissues from his night stand and shoved them into Richie’s hands. “If you get any snot on my bed, so help me God, I’ll never let you in here again.” 

Richie let out a watery laugh. He blew his nose and threw the tissue away, only to look up at Eddie, who had a mildly disgusted look on his face. 

“Dude,” Richie laughed. He plucked another tissue from the box. “I’m just doing what you asked, no snot on the bed.” He blew his nose again, this time extra loud and gross, trying to get a rise out of Eddie. It worked. 

“Jesus Christ, stop! God you’re so disgusting, why do I even associate myself with you?!”

Richie tossed the used tissue in the trash, and launched himself off the bed. “It’s cause ya love me, Eds! You just said it— you’d go into Neibolt for me!”

Eddie squealed when Richie stretched his arms out, locking Eddie in a headlock. 

“Richie, let me go! If my mom hears, I’m so gonna be dead!” His words didn’t match his expression though, a wide grin spread across his face, eyes and nose scrunched up, and cheeks a blotchy red. 

“Nuh-uh, you love me! And you want me to sign your cast!” 

Eddie’s giggles slowed, and he shook his head slightly. “You can’t, Rich. If my mom sees, she’ll know you were here, or that I’ve seen you despite telling me I’m not allowed.” 

He looked somewhat put out. Richie released him, feeling something strange pass through him at the reminder that he wasn’t even supposed to see Eddie. He couldn’t even sign Eddie’s cast; what was the point of breaking a bone if your friends can’t write silly messages all over the bandage?

“Fuck, man. Hey, maybe when I pay your mom a visit tonight, she’ll be so love-drunk that I’ll be able to convince her to let you see me!” 

Eddie shoved Richie back on to the bed and crawled on top of him, throwing painless punches all over Richie, who was laughing his ass off. 

“You! Son! Of! A! Bitch!” Eddie punctuated each word with a weak punch, and Richie brought his arms up to his face to protect his glasses. “Asshole!” 

“Okay, okay!” Richie gasped. “I repent! I yield!” 

Eddie landed one more punch on Richie’s stomach before sighing a satisfied sigh and rolling off Richie. He mourned the weight of Eddie atop of him, internally kicking himself for not basking in the feeling of Eddie Kaspbrak straddling him. _Wrong, fucked up, disgusting._

“Hey,” Eddie said, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Hey,” Richie said back, eyes drifting to the boy next to him. 

“So, Bill punched you, huh?” Eddie turned his head to Richie, one eyebrow raised. A smirk grazed his lips. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Richie laughed, shoving Eddie. He jostled his broken arm, and Eddie’s laughter dissolved into a hiss of pain. 

“Shit, sorry man,” Richie sat up, reaching out. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Eddie replied, shaking his arm out. He looked up at Richie through his lashes. 

Richie’s heart, which was already beating quite fast, sped up and soared right out of his chest. 

“Come back down,” Eddie murmured, eyes dark. 

Richie’s mouth went dry, and he nodded and swallowed. He shifted his body back down on the bed, both of them laying on their backs. 

Tentative fingers brushed the back of Richie’s knuckles, and Richie glanced down to see Eddie’s cast-covered hand creeping toward his, fingers stretched out to grab Richie’s. 

His heart thumped wildly, and Richie was surprised he was still alive. Surely one's heart shouldn’t beat this hard, this quickly. His heart should’ve exploded by now. 

Eddie’s fingers were still up against Richie’s, and in a quick moment of bravery, he turned his hand to cradle Eddie’s, which was particularly covered by his cast. 

Richie felt the flush he’s been trying to fight off since he was outside Eddie’s window and saw Eddie crouched on his floor of his bedroom begin to spread across his cheeks. He chanced a glance at Eddie, head barely moving to the left to see his reaction. 

The apples of Eddie’s cheeks were dusted with a rosy pink, freckles standing out against the pretty color. His eyes were closed, and a content expression softening his features. Richie thought he looked beautiful. _Boys aren’t supposed to be beau-_

For once, he entertained the thought. Eddie was beautiful. Eddie was cute. Eddie was ethereal. Eddie was Eddie. 

And sure, Richie’s hand was slightly sweaty as he cupped Eddie’s small fingers in his. And sure, somewhere in the back of Richie’s mind he knew that most boys don’t act like this with other boys, and that he was going to have to unpack that sooner or later.

But right now, in the heat of Eddie’s bedroom, with the afternoon sun filtering in like a beam from Heaven, Richie allowed himself one moment of freedom. One moment to bask in the feeling of Eddie’s petite frame next to his, their arms brushing due to their closeness. One moment away from this shitty summer to be here, with his best friend, who Richie coming to terms with the fact that maybe he's something more.

Two days. It’s been two days since Richie Tozier’s seen his friends. Two days since they were all together. Two days since Richie Tozier clutched Eddie Kaspbrak’s face in his hands, screaming at him to look at Richie, not the clown. 

Two days since Richie Tozier realized that he would rather die than live in a world without Eddie Kaspbrak. 

(why else was he so mad at Bill? Richie almost got a glimpse of a world without Eddie, and there’s no way he could live with it.) 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> scream about reddie on [tumblr](https://notphilseyelash.tumblr.com/) with me


End file.
